Part 20 (1/2)
”Perfectly so,” returned Arthur, adding that the house was large enough, and Edith could act her own pleasure with regard to sleeping apartments.
”Then it's settled that I may go,” chimed in Edith, quite as much delighted at the prospect of a long evening with Arthur, as with the idea of seeing more of Nina.
She knew she was leaving Richard very lonely, but she promised to be home early on the morrow, and bidding good-bye, followed Arthur and Nina to the carriage.
Nina was delighted to have Edith with her, and after their arrival at Gra.s.sy Spring, danced and skipped about the house like a gay b.u.t.terfly, pausing every few moments to wind her arms around the neck of her guest, whom she kissed repeatedly, calling her always MIGGIE, and telling her how much she loved her.
”Don't you want to see YOU as you used to be?” she asked suddenly.
”If you do, come up,--come to my room. She may?” and she turned toward Arthur, who answered, ”certainly, I will go myself,” and the three soon stood at the door of the DEN.
It was Edith's first visit there, and a feeling of awe came over her as she crossed the threshold of the mysterious room. Then a cry of joyful surprise burst from her lips as she saw how pleasant it was in there, and how tastefully the chamber was fitted up. Not another apartment in the house could compare with it, and Edith felt that she could be happy there all her life, were it not for the iron lattice, which gave it somewhat the appearance of a prison.
”Here you are,” cried Nina, dragging her across the floor to the portrait of the little child which had so interested her during Arthur's absence. ”This is she--this is you,--this is Miggie,” and Nina jumped up and down, while Edith gazed again upon the sweet baby face she had once seen in the drawing-room.
”There is a slight resemblance between you,” said Arthur, glancing from one to the other, ”Had she lived, her eyes must have been like yours; but look, this was Nina's father.”
Edith did not answer him. Indeed, she scarcely knew what he was saying, for a nameless fascination chained her to the spot, a feeling as if she were beholding her other self, as if she had leaped backward many years, and was seated again upon the nursery floor like the child before her. Like gleams of lightning, confused memories of the past came rus.h.i.+ng over her only to pa.s.s away, leaving her in deeper darkness. One thought, however, like a blinding flash caused her brain to reel, while she grasped Arthur's arm, exclaiming, ”Are you sure the baby died--sure she was buried with her mother?”
”Yes, perfectly sure,” was Arthur's reply, and with the sensation of disappointment, Edith turned at last from Miggie to the contemplation of the father; the Mr. Bernard whom she was not greatly disposed to like.
He was a portly, handsome man, but his face showed traces of early debauchery and later dissipation. Still, Edith was far more interested in him than in the portrait of Nina's mother, the light-haired, blue-eyed woman, so much like the daughter that the one could easily be recognized from it a resemblance to the other.
”Where is the second Mrs. Bernard's picture?” she asked, and Arthur answered, ”It was never taken, but Phillis declares YOU are like her, and this accounts for Nina's pertinacity in calling you Miggie.”
The pictures were by this time duly examined, and then Nina, still playing the part of hostess, showed to Edith every thing of the least interest until she came to the door, leading into the large square closet.
”Open it, please,” she whispered to Arthur. ”Let Miggie see where Nina stays when she tears.”
Arthur unlocked the door, and Edith stepped with a shudder into the solitary cell which had witnessed more than one wild revel, and echoed to more than one delirious shriek.
”Is it necessary?” she asked, and Arthur replied: ”We think so; otherwise she would demolish every thing within her reach, and throw herself from the window it may be.”
”THAT'S SO,” said Nina, nodding approvingly. ”When I'm bad, I have to tear. It cures my head, and I'm so strong then, that it takes Phillis and Arthur both to put that gown on me. I can't tear that,” and she pointed to a loose sacque-like garment, made of the heaviest possible material, and hanging upon a nail near the door of the cell.
”Have you been shut up since you came here?” Edith inquired, and Nina rejoined. ”Once; didn't you hear me scream?” Phillis tried to make me quit, but I told her I wouldn't unless they'd let you come. I saw you on the walk, you know. I'm better with you, Miggie; a heap better since you made me cry. It took a world of hardness and pain away, and my head has not ached a single time since then. I'm most well; ain't I, Arthur.”
”Miss Hastings certainly has a wonderful influence over you,”
returned Arthur, and as the evening wore away, Edith began to think so, too.
Even the servants commented upon the change in Nina, who appeared so natural and lady-like, that once there darted across Arthur's mind the question, ”what if her reason SHOULD be restored! I will do right, Heaven helping me,” he moaned mentally, for well he knew that Nina sane would require of him far different treatment from what Nina crazy did. It was late that night when they parted, he to his lonely room where for hours he paced the floor with feverish disquiet, while Edith went from choice with Nina to the DEN, determined to share her single bed, and smiling at her own foolishness when once a shadow of fear crept into her heart. How could she be afraid of the gentle creature, who, in her snowy night dress, with her golden hair falling about her face and neck, looked like some beautiful angel flitting about the room, pretending to arrange this and that, casting half bashful glances at Edith, who was longer in disrobing and at last, as if summoning all her courage for the act, stepping behind the thin lace window curtains, which she drew around her, saying softly, ”don't look at me, Miggie, will you, 'cause I'm going to pray.”
Instantly the brush which Edith held was stayed amid her raven hair, and the hot tears rained over her face as she listened to that prayer, that G.o.d would keep Nina from TEARING any more, and not let Arthur cry, but make it all come right some time with him and Miggie, too. Then followed that simple pet.i.tion, ”now I lay me down to sleep,” learned at the mother's knee by so many thousand children whose graves like hillocks in the church-yard lie, and when she arose and came from behind the gauzy screen where she fancied she had been hidden from view, Edith was not wrong in thinking that something like the glory of Heaven shone upon her pure white brow. All dread of her was gone, and when Sophy came in, offering to sleep upon the floor as was her usual custom, she promptly declined, for she would rather be alone with Nina.
Edith had never been intimate with any girl of her own age, and to her it was a happiness entirely new, she nestling down in the narrow bed with a loved companion whose arms wound themselves caressingly around her neck, and whose lips touched hers many times, whispering, ”Bless you, Miggie, bless you, precious sister, you can't begin to guess how much I love you. Neither can I tell you. Why, it would take me till morning.”
It became rather tiresome after a time being kept awake, and fearing lest she WOULD talk till morning, Edith said to her,
”I shall go home if you are not more quiet.”